Jane Eyre  Wedding Night
by WessexGirl
Summary: An attempt at a wedding night scene in keeping with character, period and style. To be inserted between 6th and 7th paragraph, Ch. 12, Vol.3. Bible references to Acts, 1 Kings and Song of Solomon. Somewhat too racy for the period, hence M. Please comment.


Without waiting to hear more, I left the kitchen. In passing the door of that sanctum some time after, I caught the words:-

"She'll happen to do more for him nor ony o' t' grand ladies." And again, "if she ben't one o' th' handsomest, she's noan faal and varry good-natured; and i' his een she's fair beautiful, onybody may see that."

Her words sang to my heart like the robin song calling out to its mate at dawn. 'In his sight, she is fair beautiful'. And I conceded that in his mind and soul's eyes it might be so now that his poor sightless eyes could no longer behold the plain reality. I hurried on to the parlour beset of such anticipation that could ill be contained. "We must become one flesh without any delay, Jane." he had said.

I found Mr Rochester in a pensive mood, his face turned towards the light of the window, the empty folds of his robe's left sleeve resting on his lap. Upon hearing the door open he hastened to hide the injured limb against his breast. The tea-tray gone from the round table next to the library chair where he was sitting, I stood between him and the light to arrange some ornament disturbed by our meal-taking.

"Jane." His voice came low and full of feeling. I know not if by the strenght of his arm or by the spell of his voice, I found myself gathered to his knee and held tight against him. "Though my eyes cannot distinguish your features, I see you pass as a cloud before the hazy light of that window and my soul exults – it is evidence that my Janet is near me." His kisses spread from my hands, to my cheeks, to my eyes, to my mouth, to my neck. A strange feeling rose to the surface, the need to flight came and was again gone, the realisation of ardour drew near and I did not fear it. His softly spoken declarations caressed my ear. "Your lips, o my spouse, drip as the honeycomb; honey and milk are under your tongue."

A different kind of passion rose inside me, a boldness I feared and hoped for. "Well, sir?"

I felt the laughter rumble in his chest before I heard it echo in the dying light of the day still suffusing the parlour, his eyes so animated and full of sunshine I could have believed myself his Ananias.

"Well, madam..." his encircling arms drew my frame closer and I remained very still, listening for interminable moments to each of his life breaths against my ear. "Well, madam..." his masculine voice was wrapped in a subtle quiver. "Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away. The time of singing has come, and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land."

No more could be said. I clasped his hand like a child that I was, in need of guidance for her steps. Never did his stature loom so large and yet his shade so protective as that moment when I let myself be led by his practiced steps, if not by his sightless eyes, from the library chair to the door, to the hallway, up the stairs. He stopped outside his chamber and alighted the softest kiss upon my brow. "Make yourself ready and come to me, my beloved." And without any more words or delay, feeling his way till his hands found the lock to allow him in, he left me gazing transfixed at the dark tones of the wooden door that now separated us.

A wave of shivers passed through my body and I stepped softly down the hall to my assigned chamber, a sudden notion of being too small and too insignificant for the role of a wife gripped my breast as I stood and attempted to open the door. As I passed the door frame the warm light of many candles and a roaring fire greeted me and brought me back to practical reality. Mary had laid out all my bridal necessities, everything was arranged for my comfort. Slowly, as I prepared myself for my husband, my confidence returned. His violence in the throes of despair after our future happiness was dashed from our grasp, forgotten. I would regard it as evidence of his impassionated nature. "I love him and he loves me." These words brought me calm and my heart swelled with love and joy that I alone could soothe his agony and free him from the misery that caged him.

I stood there for a moment and admired the fine nightgown Mary had laid out for me. The intricate bead work, the myriad small cuff buttons, the exquisite lace high collar that would encircle my neck and frame my face so neatly. It was a miracle that it could have been retrieved from the fire at Thornfield Hall – I remembered the day it was purchased, in a past that seemed so distant. It was a miracle that anything or anyone had survived that most horrid disaster. I had done the right thing, had I not, in going away? I could not have withstood his presence and preserved virtue. Yet virtue was preserved at such cost. My burden of this cost I was determined from the outset to bear; but what came after? None would help me, I had to tear myself away. The still quiet voice inside me said "I will be gracious to whom I will be gracious, and I will have compassion on whom I will have compassion" and I was comforted, even as Mr Rochester was, by His mercy in our desperate circumstances.

I gathered the nightgown to my face and inhaled the faint smell of rosewood disguising the fainter smell of smoke and cast it aside, preferring to wear the silk robe. In celebrating our first Christmas together as sisters, Mary, Diana and I had our robes made to match, just before I heard the voice across the moors call out to me. I secured the robe tightly around my waist as if in resolve.

The shroud of cold air and darkness enveloped me when I stepped out into the hall and took the few steps to Mr Rochester's chamber. I could see the light under his door and hastened to come in and be near him.

He was seated at the end of his bed, his locks made longer by dampness, his clean shirt hanging loose on his broad frame, untucked. With his parted feet on the bare boards and with his arms by his side, his elbows rested on the mattress, he was a fine sight by the light of the vigorous fire. He sat up as I closed the door behind me. Shaking with emotion I approached him and stood between his parted legs arranging his hair. "My beloved is white and ruddy, chief among ten thousand. His head is like the finest gold" He chuckled but indulged me, a half smile playing on his strong features. "His locks are wavy and black as a raven". Breath stopped of a sudden. We both knew what the next words were, but he spoke first, barely overcoming overwhelming gratitute. "Jane..." his voice was but a whisper. "Though my eyes are not like doves, yet my Maker has deemed it His pleasure to restore to me what I regarded more precious than sight – my Jane." His right hand first rested on my shoulder, then found its way down to rest on the side of my hip. "Jane... Jane... Are you sure you want to share the bed of this crippled, twisted creature?"

I hushed his words with long kisses until he forgot what others words he wanted to say. "My beloved lips are lillies, dripping liquid myrrh." I said even as he stifled a sob. I lifted his shirt above his head and held his hand to have him standing. I was fascinated by the sight of the fine hair on his chest, and longed to discover its softness. My fingers traced patterns on it; I was enchanted by its frangrance. I kissed him everywhere I could reach. "His body is carved ivory inlaid with sapphires". He could not easily contain so many moans at the back of his throat. His arms held me in place as I was in need of leaning against him. He covered the top of my head with kisses and gently stroked my hair. I boldly unfastened his breaches and lowered them to the floor assisting him until his feet were free and he stood there undressed. "His legs are pillars of marble set on bases of fine gold." I stood again and allowed him to bring me near to him. For a wild moment of utter breathlessness I could feel all his vigour and his ardour. In alarm, my mind wanted to flee the unfamiliar but I reminded myself that I was Mrs Rochester and must have courage. He sat down on the bed once again. I spoke out, my heart now full to the point of bursting with love for him, and pride in his love for me. "He is altogether lovely. This is my beloved, and this is my friend."

"Janet, I am undeserving of such kindness and poetry." He held my left wrist, then kissed it lightly. "How fast your heart beats. My dejection is boundless that I cannot do the same for you, that I cannot assist you to undress and show you tender caresses." He was referring to his maimed hand. "Edward" I approached my lips to his ear and guided his right hand to the tie of my belt. "Edward, nothing stands between us".

He pulled the belt off the robe and pushed the material away from my shoulders. He gathered my whole frame to him in his sitting position, the warmth of his body thrilling me. His hand caressed my face, my neck, my chest. I concentrated on breathing and standing and fought against the faintness coming over me. He sat me on his knee and holding me with his right arm proceeded to distribute kisses and caresses in ways I could only withstand for fear of breaking my dream-like dellirium.

"Behold you are fair, my love. Behold, you are fair". He said these words with such conviction I could for a moment believe he could distinguish my form. "Your breasts are like two fawns, twins of a gazelle, which feed among the lillies." His hand and fingers echoed the path of the poet and enticed me to a strange aching longing. "Until the day breaks and the shadows flee away". The path of his hand continued its descent. "I will go my way to the mountain of myrrh". Tears for joy and pleasure flowed freely from my eyes. This most intimate caress endured for some long, slow passing of time till I could breath no more or orient myself and had to give myself over to crashing waves of sensation that shook my whole being.

He held me tightly and kissed my forehead repeating my name so sweetly, before laying me in the middle of his bed and nestling over me. He rested on his elbows and kissed me gently until all had passed away and I was again gripped by this now more familiar longing. His tears reached my face from time to time.

"God, help me not be like a beast ravishing my little ewe lamb". He muttered under his breath as we became one flesh. With courage I withstood his assault but he was as kind as he could be, torn between his love and his passion, until he could resist no more and I could say "I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine."

As we fell asleep, truly, surpassing physical reality, his left hand was under my head and his right hand embraced me. I felt I could safely face the world as Mrs Rochester. Now not just in name, but in deed.

I had written to Moor House and to Cambridge earlier that day, to say what I had done: fully explaining why I had thus acted.


End file.
